


picky

by aloophen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, this one's for u guy fieri, unnamed baby miya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloophen/pseuds/aloophen
Summary: As the owner of a popular restaurant, Osamu figured he had a pretty good idea of what people liked to eat.Then he had a kid.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 107





	picky

Deservedly, Osamu was proud of having a popular restaurant. In the early days of Onigiri Miya he had stressed over and painstakingly crafted a menu to appeal to all of his customers. Since this had resulted in a hit restaurant, he figured he had a pretty good idea of what people liked to eat.

Then he had a kid.

Osamu had dreamed of sharing his passion for food with his child; taking him to different shops, trying various dishes with him and watching his big round eyes widen in joy when they found something delicious. His son, his very own blood, had stomped those dreams into the dirt upon reaching toddler age.

Osamu found himself facing what seems like his most insurmountable task yet: getting his kid to try new foods.

“Here you go,” Osamu placed the lovingly prepared spicy cucumber rice ball in front of his son. He smiled proudly when his son burbled a quick thanks and immediately scooped up the rice ball into his tiny hands. Osamu turned away to prepare his own lunch.

You sat nursing a cup of tea and watched as your son munched on the rice ball. He chewed happily on the rice, but as he reached the filling his eyes widened and his mouth slowed down.

“Bleh,” With a disgusted look on his face, he fishes out the cucumbers and arranges them neatly on his plate, “gross.”

You blew on your tea, “Just say ‘no thank you’ baby.”

“No thank you, it’s gross.”

You sigh and turn to your husband, but pause when you see that he looks like a deer in headlights, “What’s wrong?”

Osamu looks stricken, “That...that’s one of our most popular items at the store…”

Alarmed at just how heartbroken Osamu looked, you stood up to console him, “Relax, it’s his first time trying it, he might end up liking it in the future.”

Osamu didn’t look relieved, “Is he sick?”

You glance back at your son who, completely oblivious to his father’s distress, was now rearranging the cucumbers on his plate into a face.

“He’s perfectly healthy, just a little picky lately,” you whisper to him, “he’ll grow out of it. Last week, he was asking that I only give him red foods to eat because it’s his favorite color.”

You laugh a little at the memory then continue, “Don’t get emotional about it, just give him a healthy meal, he’ll eat it eventually if you don’t make it a big deal.”

Hands on his hips, Osamu shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t have a picky eater for a son, I just can’t do it.”

“Did you not hear what I just said–”

Osamu looks up, filled with determination, “I can fix this.”

Shrugging in defeat, you return to your tea deciding that whatever problems your husband creates he can fix himself. You just hope he leaves you out of it.

_

Osamu soon found himself hitting another roadblock.

Sliding a bowl of banana slices in front of his son, he assures him, “This is just a snack. Then we’ll get to the good stuff.”

Osamu figured starting off with something his son liked would improve his chances of getting him to try new things and would also prevent him from complaining of hunger. His musings over his strategy were promptly cut off by his son firmly pushing the bowl away.

“I don’t like bananas.”

Osamu froze. “Whaddya mean,” he stared at his son with a look of pure confusion, “you were eating bananas last week!”

The boy shook his head dismissively, “Don’t like ‘em anymore.”

Osamu lowered himself to the boy’s level, “Maybe you just had a bad banana, try ‘em again.”

His son's lips press into a firm line, like he’s thinking about how he should go about refusing. “Just one bite,” Osamu pleads.

His son heaves an aggrieved sigh which makes Osamu twitch because if anybody should be sighing like that it should be _him_.

He takes a bite. “Uh uh”, he says almost immediately.

Taking the bitten piece of banana, he places it onto a napkin and carefully folds it over the discarded remnants. He scoots out of the chair and skips over to the trash can. Swiftly depositing the napkin, he dusts his hands off in a satisfied manner then turns to his father.

“I cleaned up. Can we play a game now?”

Osamu was already pouting, this was going to be harder than he thought, “Okay…”

_

“When I was his age, I would eat anything that was put in front of me!”

“Sorry yer kid doesn’t have a landfill for a stomach like you, ‘Samu.”

Osamu bristles and readjusts the phone against his ear, “That’s not the issue. How do ya like bananas one week and then hate them the next?”

Atsumu sounds annoyed already, “The hell do I know about kids? Just feed him whatever ya make, it’s not like it’ll kill him if he doesn’t like it–oh, hey, Shoyo-kun.” Osamu frowns at his brother being so easily distracted.

Osamu hears a muffled and vaguely worried voice in the background. “Nah, everything’s fine, my brother just can’t handle my nephew and now he’s beggin’ me for advice,” Atsumu explains.

“Quit lyin’ ya scrub!”

“Yeah, he’s upset the poor kid doesn’t have an iron stomach like him,” Atsumu blathers on, “Honestly, we didn’t even need a TV growing up. Watchin’ ‘Samu scarf down soggy ramen was like watchin’ Animal Planet.”

“Fuck you, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu speaks into the phone again, “Yeah, yeah, don’t call me to complain then. By the way, what’re you guys havin’ for dinner tonight, can I come over–”

Osamu hung up the phone.

_

The little boy looks curiously at the spread on the table. Various sauces had been poured into small sample cups and were arranged in a precise manner. 

Osamu had decided on this method to try to get an idea of his son’s palate and spice tolerance. If he knew what flavors he liked, he could dress up any food to make it appealing. Osamu can picture it now, once they get past this little obstacle, he and his son are on the bus to flavortown.

Osamu nods to himself in self-assurance. Surely, this plan was foolproof.

He gestures towards the spread, “Which one do you want to try first?”

The toddler puts a finger to his lower lip in thought. “Hmm, that one,” he points to the sweet chili sauce.

Osamu brings it closer and the boy sticks a finger into the cup. After carefully scrutinizing the sauce on the tip of his finger, he pops it into his mouth.

Osamu holds his breath in anticipation. With pursed lips and a thoughtful look, his son turns to him and nods, “I like it!”

Osamu was ecstatic. Mentally, he’s got his arms raised in victory, the bus is pulling out of the terminal.

Distracted by his achievement, Osamu doesn’t notice his son eyeing the cup of hot sauce. “I like this red stuff, ’s pretty,” he says, reaching out to grab it.

It happens almost in slow motion, Osamu doesn’t fully realize what’s happening until the cup is already tipping, “Wait, sweetie, don’t!”

He downs the entire thing.

In Osamu’s imagination, the brakes on the flavortown bus have failed and it’s rolling into the nearest ravine.

Osamu panicked as his son’s face progressively became redder. The toddler stuck his tongue out and sobbed, _“whatisthisssss!”_

You come home to your toddler with his face pressed into a bowl of milk. Osamu looks like he's on the verge of tears.

He blubbers incoherently, you can only make out about half of his explanation.

“He won't even eat bananas anymore,” he finishes miserably.

You shake your head and go over to the refrigerator. You pull out the container of banana pudding you had made the day before and dish some into a bowl.

Stroking his hair to comfort him, you lift your toddler’s face out of the bowl, wipe it off, and offer him the pudding.

Osamu watches in awe as his son happily eats the pudding, banana pieces included. “I think I like bananas again,” he mumbles.

“That’s good!” you praise.

Osamu turns to you, still misty-eyed, “Teach me, please.”

By next week, his son is eating spicy cucumbers.

**Author's Note:**

> @alouphen on tumblr


End file.
